


Spells and Wild Abandoned Stars

by siriuslyhiddenlawyer



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Benedict Cumberbatch's Doctor Strange, Doctor Strange (2016) - Freeform, F/M, OFC - Freeform, Original Female Character - Freeform, Porn With Plot, Pre-Doctor Strange (2016), Rekindled Romance, Smut, Stephen Strange - Freeform, old lovers reunite, porn with fluff, pre-accident Doctor Strange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 18:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14243394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslyhiddenlawyer/pseuds/siriuslyhiddenlawyer
Summary: Doctor Malick is giving a lecture in New York at a neurological society function when she sees Doctor Stephen Strange in the crowd. After 20 years of silence, 20 years of no contact between lovers, how did time disappear between them? How did 20 years of distance simply cease its existence with a simple touch of his lips to her cheek, a touch of his hand to hers, a smile? 20 years, and she was under his spell again.





	1. A Glimmer from Afar

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a request on Tumblr! Hope you enjoy!

When the lecture was over, Dr. Rayna Malick smiled at her colleagues, nodding her thanks at their applause as she gathered her notes from the lectern, her eyes easily finding _him._

            In her entire life, she had only ever had one _him_. A _him_ that she could identify by just those three vague letters, without the necessity to properly identify him using a distinct first and last name. Just… _him_. Or _he_ , depending on grammatical need.

            And _he_ was walking towards her now as she shook hands with the people on the dais, who congratulated her on her talk, on her empowering presence, on the way she had illuminated so much for them about emergency medicine in faraway places, in regions wracked with natural and man-made disasters. She didn’t know how and what she responded with to the people that complimented her, she was sure she said the right things, smiled and nodded the way she was supposed to, her notes clutched in her hands, her smile pasted on her face as _he_ walked towards her. As always, _he_ seemed to suck all the energy out of the room, a walking talking blackhole, she used to call _him_ , because whenever _he_ walked into a room, nothing else existed for her.

            _He_ always consumed her, always occupied her, always stretched himself within her very skin and scrambled her thoughts. It was a good thing she hadn’t spotted him during the lecture or _he_ would have made her sound like an incompetent, nervous ass. Or whatever the opposite of accomplished neurosurgeon turned WHO ambassador was these days. Or the simple opposite of a composed, graceful, literate woman.

            _He_ turned her into a cavewoman, reduced her down to the most common denominator of biology. She always liked to entertain herself by imagining all her diplomas and commendations burning in a sacrificial pyre in front of him while he looked on imperiously with that tilted chin and big body that exuded arrogance and confidence.

            He was a few feet from her now, looking more handsome than she remembered. And she was convinced that it had been impossible for him to look even more tantalizing than he normally did, than he did when she had first known him lifetimes, ages, eons ago. Age had settled into his features with a grace that made her envious, that had her eyes tracing the laugh lines and crow’s feet around his eyes and mouth, that had her looking at the gray at his temples with an appreciative smile. He looked more severe, more austere with the whitened temples, as if his physical form was finally catching up to the brain, the talent that he was known for. And in that black suit that fit his body like a glove, she wondered vaguely if he’d worn black on black because he’d remembered her weakness for it. Or if he’d worn a simple black tie instead of a bowtie because he’d remembered her preference for it.

            Stephen Strange was aging like fine wine, and as she stood talking to the head of the neurological society that was throwing this little party, she wondered she looked like to him. Her hair was a deep red now from a bottle, cut short to a manageable length around her shoulders, now pulled back in a professional bun. She wondered if he saw the age lines on her face, saw them through the make-up she’d used to hide them, suddenly feeling shy that day about her age when she’d realized he was going to be at the dinner. Would he see how her body had changed with time, with age, with motherhood? Would he trace her features the way she had his? Would he even notice the black dress she wore with the velvet jacket over it, in her attempt to look elegant when she felt frumpy?

            “Dr. Malick,” he grinned, his voice the same, incredibly soothing baritone that lived and breathed in her dreams, that haunted her and woke her up in the middle of the night, aroused beyond explanation, panting for him, and knowing there would never be a substitute for him.

            “Stephen,” she grinned, shaking his hand, his long, eloquent fingers swallowing her hand whole, “must we stand on formality?” she murmured, looking into those cat-like, mercurial eyes, that beautiful, chiseled face that she had sketched with her pencil and with her fingertips, her lips, her tongue…so many nights in his arms, so many hours…

            “I thought you’d prefer it,” he grinned at her, “if we’re dropping the titles then, I can greet you properly,” his eyes flashed as he leaned down, kissing her cheek even as he held her hand in his. She tried not to moan, not to react, not to weep or turn her face into the familiarity of his lips. How was it possible? After all these years, to still become breathless in his presence, to still remember the texture of his lips?

            “That’s better,” she laughed, “how are you, Stephen? I must say, I’m surprised to see you here!”

            “I make it a point to come to functions featuring an old friend,” his smile was the same, wonderous to behold, transforming his entire face into light even as it melted his perfect jaw line to multiple chins of mirth.

            “Old friends,” she rolled her eyes.

            “Polite term,” he grinned.

            She vaguely wondered what that impolite term for them would be. Lovers? Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? She looked deep into his eyes and couldn’t make herself reduce their relationship to callus words and phrases that didn’t quite reflect what they’d shared. They had been each other’s rock, she knew that, but she’d never fooled herself into thinking they would be anything else. It had been the strangest relationship she could imagine, physically demanding, emotionally taxing and simultaneously satisfying her to her core. But they had lived together with the knowledge that there was a temporariness to everything between them, that the peace they found together was just a brief lapse in judgement.

            Her thoughts were momentarily interrupted as a pair of surgeons walked up, introducing themselves and looking at Stephen in wonder. She felt grateful that she could melt into his shadow for just a few moments, knowing that anyone would be overshadowed by the Great Stephen Strange. Rayna didn’t mind standing next to him, listening to the confident way he accepted praise, knowing fully well he deserved every single one and making no qualms about it.

            “How do you two know each other?” Dr. Simpson was asking, looking at Rayna.

            “We did our residency together at New York Gen under Dr. Walsh,” she answered the elderly surgeon, accepting the glass of wine the waiter offered them.

            “I didn’t realize!” Dr. Simpson looked astonished, her eyes on Stephen, and Rayna could relate to the feminine appreciation she saw.

            “Rayna was always the better doctor,” Stephen was saying, one hand casually in his pocket, his long fingers wrapped around the squat class of whiskey he’d had the waiter bring him, “always gave me a run for my money. Thank God she didn’t stick around or I’d have serious competition,” they all chuckled at the comment and she saw the astonishment that flared in the eyes of the doctors in the little circle that had convened around them. To think that there was another doctor, another surgeon that Dr. Stephen Strange would admit to being inferior to.

            But then, whatever impermanence they’d shared, she could at least say they stripped each other of ego.

            Rayna’s thoughts drifted as she listened and responded mechanically to the conversation around her, catching his eye every once in a while, watching those crinkles at the edges of his eyes when he smiled for her, winking at her in the secret way he always did. Back in the old days, he would wink at her like that at parties too, or even while they were in class or at work, and she knew it would mean he was going to catch her alone somewhere and devour her. And oh, how she loved it when he feasted on her.

She remembered their little crappy apartment in New York, the cramped space somehow seeming infinite when he was around, every surface seemed to be covered with medical textbooks and notebooks, a pair of scrubs always on display somewhere, announcing to the world that two medical residents lived there. Rayna, a neat freak, would work tirelessly to make sure their place was clean but it always looked disastrous, an inexplicable, permanent hurricane seemed to live in their place. She remembered the warm nights when she’d be studying outside, sitting on the fire escape, listening to the sounds of the city as she studied and strived, the way he’d crawl nimbly out of the window and sit next to her. She’d always put the book and highlighter away and lean back in his arms, and they’d simply breath together.

Looking back now, older and wiser, with enough life experience under her belt to last a regular person thousands of lifetimes, she realized they’d been happy because they knew it wasn’t going to last between them. They had held each other, made love to each other, breathed for each other with the knowledge that there was an end date. And she’d been the one to say good-bye, signing up with Doctors Without Borders not long after she’d completed her residency, and she would forever remember the way he’d kissed her good-bye at the airport.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he asked her now, leaning down, his words for her alone, “catch up a little? Talk about the old times? Unless you’re too much of a hot shot right now and can’t be bothered with an old friend.”  
            _Old friend._

She laughed, “sure!” she smiled, “I guess I can make time for you if I must,” she looked at the other doctors they’d been talking, “excuse us.”

They carried their glasses to the rooftop terrace, the breeze somehow warm as they walked to the rose garden that was hidden on the roof. The sense of familiarity overwhelmed her as she stood next to him in silence, side by side as they watched the Manhattan skyline, watched the glittering water of the Hudson under the moonlight. “Man, I’ve missed this city,” she murmured, “I never thought I would but there you have it.”

            “Where’s home now?” he asked her, turning his back on the city and leaning against the low wall to watch her, setting his glass down, hands in his trouser pockets.

            “I just got moved to DC,” she told him, “I’ve been in Geneva but—” she grinned, “you’re looking at the new secretary general of the Pan American Health Organization.”

            “Wow! Ray, congratulations!” he was smiling at her, “that’s wonderful.”

            She smiled at him, “thanks,” she nodded, “figured it was time to find a more permanent living situation.”

            He tilted his head, lifting a brow, “is this your way of telling me something?”

            Rayna chuckled, rolling her eyes, “still a jackass.”

            “Clearly, you’re divorced,” he murmured, “you keep wanting to rub a wedding ring that’s not there.”

            “See? Jackass,” she smiled, “always noticing stupid things.”

            “Gasp,” his voice was deep, sarcastic, “a surgeon? Noticing details? Terrible!”

            She made a mock gasping sound, laughing as she sat next to him, their arms touching but neither cared, neither pulled away, “my kid’s growing up, I feel kinda bad moving her around all over the world. She needs some stability,” Rayna looked at her feet, saw her velvet black pumps next to his sleek black shoes.

            “Understandable,” he murmured, “how old is she?”

            “Twelve,” she smiled, “she’s currently in DC driving my parents crazy, dragging them all over the city sightseeing,” she chuckled.

            “Always knew you’d make a wonderful mom,” he told her, “what’s her name?”

            “Delilah,” she answered, “the most extraordinary creature in existence, in my absolute objective opinion.”

            He laughed softly, “I bet, I mean, she _is_ your daughter after all. And her dad?” he asked after a few moments of silence, glancing at her with those eyes that had shifted from an intense blue to gray under the moonlight, “he was some kind of soldier, wasn’t he?”

            Rayna laughed, “Interpol,” she answered, “and he’s out of the picture. I mean, I adored the guy but something just doesn’t feel right when you come home to find him banging his secretary.”

            “God,” he rolled his eyes, “His secretary? How cliché!”  
            She leaned her shoulder into him, laughing harder, “fuck me Stephen, that’s the same thing I thought man. Like, couldn’t you fucking ruin our marriage with something more inventive?” she shook her head, “I would’ve been totally okay with him fucking a dude or his yoga instructor or something. Like, _come on_.”

            “Secretary. What an amateur,” he was shaking his head, “did you get back at him? Fucked your Pilates teacher or some Viking, Swiss god?”

            “I wish!” she told him, “I was definitely overcome with the urge to just throw all his things in the street but ended up taking off my ring and putting it on the dresser. Very mature and symbolic gesture you know,” she tried to hide her smile, “then when he was at work I went through his closet and accidentally tossed all his designer suits into the street. I mean, it was a freak accident, you see. A really strong wind that only got his shit, none of mine got swept up in the wind. And they just happened to land in a puddle,” she shrugged, “God works in mysterious ways.”

            Stephen was laughing now, his silly, free laugh that turned him into an uncaring young man, the laugh that she had adored, his shoulders shaking, his voice booming, “that’s one helluva wind,” he grinned.

            “They call the wind Rayna,” she stood up, wrapping her arms around her middle as she walked around a bit in front of him, pacing, “what about you? Is there a Mrs. Strange?” but Rayna laughed at the look he gave her, “yeesh, sorry I asked,” she stopped in front of him, noticing the way he spread his legs as if waiting for her to step between them, “I’ve been keeping up with your work, with all the headway you’ve been making. I’ve seen the procedures you’ve invented work miracles, Stephen, you’re doing such important work.”

            Something shifted in those gray eyes, “I appreciate that,” he nodded, “but most would tell you that it’s cost me my integrity, and that’s always been something you’ve been better at than me.”

            She raised a brow, “how the fuck has it cost you your integrity?”

            “I’m too…discerning about my patients, apparently,” he lifted a hand, rubbing the back of his neck in the gesture she knew meant he was uncomfortable, revealing to her something he probably hadn’t even told himself, “too focused on the win and not the patient.”

            “That’s a very narrow mindset,” and damn him, how had he known she would step between his legs the way she did now? Had he known she would rest her hands on his shoulders the way she did? “from where I’m standing, you’re discerning because you’re making progress,” she murmured, “I mean, we need doctors treating patients on a daily basis yeah, and I know you babe,” she grinned at the way his eyes flared at the endearment she’d always called him, “if someone came to you, and you could help them, you would, no matter what. But what you do is make progress in medicine and in the long run, that’s more important.”

            “Ah Rayna,” he took her hands in his, kissing the back of her hands with reverence she missed, that had her eyes flutter shut, “I missed you,” he murmured, keeping the contact.

            She couldn’t help leaning over him, pressing her lips to the back of his head, smelling the shampoo he used, the expensive cologne, the familiar scent of man underneath it all. He smelled so familiar, felt even more so as he rubbed the skin on her hands with his thumbs, “I’ve missed you too,” she told him, pulling back and letting him straighten up, looking up at her with those pale eyes.

            “When do you go back to DC?” he asked, his voice soft, his eyes holding a fire that she wanted to sacrifice herself in.

            “I have a flight early tomorrow,” she told him, reaching out to cup his jaw in her palm, tracing those sharp cheekbones with her thumb, “I have meetings with Delilah’s school, otherwise…” she let the sentence hang, knew he understood her well enough to complete it accurately himself.

            “Which hotel are you at?” he asked her, letting her hands go, gripping her hips instead as he pulled her closer.

            “The Ritz,” she told him, stroking the graying hair at his temples, running her hand through his perfectly styled hair. She smiled, remembering their mindless arguments about his hair, how she always insisted he keep it long, give his curls the chance to flourish, loving the way it looked when it was left to its own devices. But he insisted on blow drying it straight, telling her it looked more professional, more like a surgeon than someone with shaggy, curly hair.

            “My place is closer,” he told her, his voice dropping an octave as he tilted his head to look at her, letting her see the heat in his eyes now, letting her see his thoughts, his desire for her.

            She knew what she looked like, probably wide eyed and panting at his attention, starved for his touch, for his affection. Staring at his lips, she traced the perfect cupid’s bow of the top lip with her fingertip, feeling the outrageous softness of his lower lip with the pad of her thumb, she had to admit she’d come to New York mostly hoping that she would up here, in his arms, hoping to wind up in his bed. “How much closer?” she murmured.

            His grin was devilish, satisfied, “close enough.”


	2. Spinning Wildly Through the Stars

            They were forced to stay at the dinner for a few more hours, separated by the people that wanted to talk to them, that wanted to have various conversations, asking questions about their fields of expertise. Rayna’s fingers were curled in her fist the entire time, talking about international public health with expertise and articulation even as her skin burned for him. She sounded professional enough that no one seemed to realize she was completely distracted, that her eyes kept betraying her truest thoughts when they found him in the crowd, tracing the breadth of his shoulders in that black jacket, his lean waist that tapered down to the luscious curve of his ass encased so perfectly in those black slacks. She wondered if he put his hand in his pocket on purpose, forcing the material to stretch over his ass, enticing her.

             There was slight panic that flared when she thought about being naked with him in a few hours, locked away in his penthouse. God, her body had changed so much. Whereas he’d aged with the grace of a healthy, robust man, a man at the prime of his life, she felt like her body had started deteriorating, broken and bent by her life. Her breasts spoke of how she’d breastfed her daughter, her stretch marks told the story of her three pregnancies, her scars decried the two that she’d lost. The rapid weight she’d lost after she and Matt had divorced making her look gaunt, unhealthy. She had such black pits under her eyes, she found her heart beating in anxiety as she thought about him seeing her without make-up.

            Oh God, she was going to scare the shit out of him.

            But when he walked towards her, sauntered really, rolling his hips with that look in his eyes, she knew she was trapped. There was no escaping his desires and her own desire for his body, for his breath and sighs. God, she wanted him…

            “Ready?” he asked, waiting patiently for the group that had been saying good-night to her to disperse.

            She looked up at him, taking a deep steadying breath, “yes, let’s go,” she smiled.

            Whether or not people noticed them leaving together didn’t matter to her, didn’t register as she felt his hand on the small of her back, as he opened the door of his sleep sports car, slipping the valet a generous tip after he closed the door behind her. She settled into the seat, resting her head back as he peeled down the deserted street. She smiled, relaxing against the expensive leather as she vaguely wondered how fast he was going. “You always drove like a maniac,” she laughed.

            “I’m just trying to get you naked as fast as possible,” he looked at her sideways, “I’ve been pretending to be patient long enough.”

            She let her legs fall open slightly, the short skirt of her dress riding up on her thighs and she saw the way he bit his lip, saw heat flare within him, the way his ears turned red with arousal and she spread her legs for him, “I’m flattered,” she murmured.

            “You should also feel _very_ lucky that I didn’t drag you to the nearest bathroom and fucked you right there,” he told her, moving his right hand between her legs, his long fingers touching the inside of her thigh with a knowing touch, with a knowledge in his fingertips that left her breathless for him.

            “Remember that time at Dean Sumner’s barbecue?” she laughed, groaning as he squeezed her thigh, running her hand over his, feeling the muscles in his forearms even through his jacket.

            His chuckle was dark in the unlit car, his face illuminated by the dashboard, dangerous, vicious in his focused purpose as he drove at breakneck speeds towards his penthouse. “I’m still shocked on one caught you giving me a blowjob behind the house,” he laughed.

            “Especially after all the racket you were making,” she grinned, slipping his hand higher on her thigh.

            “Do you remember that wedding we went to? Christ, I can’t remember their name anymore,” he chuckled.

            “The one in Main? In that B & B?”

            “Yeah!” he glanced at her, his finger brushing over the lace of her panties nestled between her thighs, making her sigh, “I’ll never forget the dress you were wearing that night.”

            She laughed, wrapping her fingers around his thick wrist as he brushed his fingers against her core through her panties, “the one you ruined?” she laughed heartily, “you never gave me those panties back by the way. But then, they always were your favorite.”

            “I’m pretty sure I still have them,” he murmured.

            “Dirty fucker,” she laughed at him, groaning as he slipped a finger beneath the lace of her panties, coating the back of his long finger with her wetness.

            “I was only ever depraved when I was with you,” he told her with an erotic chuckle, stroking her skin with that middle finger, “you always did something to my head.”

            “And you were always so innocent,” she laughed, pushing his hand deeper, harder against herself using her grip on his thick wrist, “never the one to grab a moment to locks us up in a closet or a bathroom, or _shit_ , Stephen,” she laughed breathlessly, watching his profile, “there was that one time on the dance floor, do you remember?”  
            “Ray,” he laughed softly, his finger pressing against her clit and she moaned, arching against his hand, “how the fuck do you think I would forget that? I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes with a hard on thinking about that night.”

            Rayna moaned, feeling younger, feeling less ancient as his finger rubbed circles against her swollen bud, “it was all your fault you know,” she laughed, remembering how they’d been holding each other tightly on the unlit dance floor, the music in the club blasting as he’d slipped inside her. Everyone around them had been too wrapped up in their own romances, in their bodies to notice them. Their bodies guarding their secrets, and she still remembered the way he’d kept her skirt down, unable to slip inside her completely but rubbing his cock between her wet folds, coming between her thighs, his mouth opening in a silent scream.  

            “Oh yeah, and you hadn’t been counting on it either,” he laughed, “you were in that velvet red dress, the really short one with no panties on. You couldn’t walk without flashing your pussy.”

            “It was your birthday,” she protested, wishing he would slip his finger inside her now, needing to feel his digit buried inside her swollen flesh, “how could I deny you anything on your birthday? Your 28th birthday, right?”

            “Humping on the dance floor,” he shook his head, pulling into an underground garage to their left without signaling or warning, one hand on the steering wheel and driving without the need of the other. God, he felt good, his touch…his touch was so knowing.

            She sat forward as he punched in a code to make the heavy iron gates open, letting the car pass through as she put her hand on his lower stomach, needing to kiss him, needing him to touch her. He sunk his fingers into her inner thigh, seeming to drive automatically to his parking spot as he watched her shift in her seat, rising up on her knees. “We had some fun times,” she grinned, slipping a finger between two of his buttons at his stomach the way she always used to, touching warm, male skin beneath.

            “Yeah, we did,” he pulled up finally, putting the car in park and turning his attention to her, lifting his free hand to cup her jaw, pushing her hair away from her face, his eyes searching hers.

            She leaned into him, brushing her open mouth against his with a smile, “mmm, do you still kiss with your eyes open?” she murmured.

            “Why don’t you find out?” he growled, pushing his seat back in one fluid moment, dragging her over the console to straddle him, her dressed up around her waist now as she loomed over him.

            “I intend to,” she said before she kissed him again, knew he kept his eyes partially open but uncaring, unable to understand anything as their breath exploded from their lungs in desperate pants, gasping for each other. She nearly screamed in pleasure when he licked her mouth open, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and tasting her with confidence, with arrogance that made her smile. She ran her fingers through his hair, arching against him as she clutched him closer, pressing her breasts against his solid chest. “God, Stephen,” she murmured, pressing her forehead to his, a silly grin on her lips as she realized her dark lipstick was smeared around his mouth, “I’ve missed you.”

            He smiled, biting her chin, “not my fault you decided to leave the country.”

            Laughing, she pressed herself against his erection, “what would have happened if I stayed?” she asked, “we’d be fuck buddies till the end of time?”

            “It wouldn’t have been _that_ bad,” he rolled his eyes.

            “I mean,” she shrugged, “there are worse things?” she couldn’t help laughing in his arms, “a couple of forty something year old’s humping on a dance floor.”

            “Oh, the terror,” he grinned up at her, running his hands over her thighs, gripping her panties.

            “The horror, the horror,” she kissed his jaw, “babe,” she murmured as she dragged her teeth over his jaw, “either fuck me here or take me upstairs, I’m starting to get impatient.”

            “Ooh,” he murmured, “I used to be able to tease for hours, so impatient.”

            Rayna bit his jaw in punishment, making him hiss and tightening his fingers around her panties, nearing tearing the scrap of lace, “I haven’t had you in nearly two decades! Stephen,” she sighed, “I’m dying for you.”

            She wrapped her arm through his as they walked to the elevators that took them up to his penthouse, smiling and kissing in the elevator like teenagers, giggling as he pressed her against the wall to deepen their kiss. Rayna sighed into his mouth, gasping as she felt his erection press into her, grateful that it was late and none of his neighbors interrupted their ride. She glanced up at the security camera as he licked her throat, burying his lips against her as she clung to him, digging her nails into his jacket. She was sure the security guard watching was getting one hell of a show as Stephen pressed his hips into her, his cock pressing into her through their clothes.

            How she’d missed this passion, this freedom from thought, this freedom from the fear of being judged if she reached out and grabbed the pleasure she wanted from him. She felt like she’d been living in a glass house without Stephen, felt as if she’d only been half alive without him to touch her, to call forth the fire from her body. No lover could compare to him, no lover could hold a candle to him. Even Matt, whom she had loved madly, with his big body and muscles, with his insatiable lust and attention to her body, still had never quite managed to make her feel the way Stephen Strange did.

            There was a madness in the way he looked at her, a cold calculation as he gave her pleasure, a singular drive to squeeze every last bit of pleasure, every last scream of ecstasy from her. He terrified her sometimes, but she knew that’s why she loved being with him, that’s why she loved his body the way she did.

            He opened the door for her, flipping on the lights and letting her go inside first. Stephen ran a hand through his hair, that stubborn chunk falling across his forehead as it always did. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he gestured with his hand, his eyes dancing.

            “Humble?” she laughed, letting him take off her peacoat, making her shiver when he pressed his wet lips to her throat. She looked around his penthouse, grinning at the open, uninterrupted space, the minimalist, sleek furniture, the wall opposite made of glass that looked out to the darkened city. His penthouse was just like him she thought, slipping off her shoes in favor of comfort, the polished hardwood floor luxurious against her bare feet. Everything was picked and placed with a purpose, chosen for its utility and elegance. Her attention was drawn to the glass bookcase to her left, smiling at the tomes he had there, the first editions he never seemed to resist, all his awards and accolades on display. “Impressive,” she murmured, standing in front of the glass and pointed to one of them, “I was there when you got that one!”

            “We both got that one, remember?” he came to stand behind her, his lips a whisper away from her ear, making her shiver as he slipped his arms around her from behind.

            She hummed, leaning back against his chest, closing his eyes as she felt his lips against her jaw, against her cheek as his finger touched her stomach, his touch feather light over her breasts, tracing absent patterns that made her groan even through the material of her dress and bra. She needed his mouth on her skin, needed to feel the warmth of his flesh against hers, needed to hear his growls in her ear. “You know,” he murmured, “I sometimes think about what you could have accomplished if you’d stayed, if you’d actually developed a practice instead of running around trying to save everyone.”

            She laughed softly, tracing the veins in his hands, “you wonder whether I’d have more awards?”

            “It hurts me to say this, but you were always the better surgeon,” he told her, catching her earlobe between his lips, his teeth stinging slightly as he dragged her skin between his teeth.

            “Wow,” Rayna looked at him with a raised eyebrow, “if I told anyone you said that, they’d never believe me.”

            His smile was ethereal, those lines at the corner of his eyes and mouth, that remarkable jaw melting into multiple chins as he looked down at her, “what’s another secret between us?” he frowned when she pulled away from him, “where you going?”

            “Just getting my phone,” she told him casually, walking towards the peg by the door where he’d hung her coat, “going to record you saying that for proof.”

            Rayna laughed breathlessly when he ran to her from behind, grabbing her by the waist and spinning her around, “ _that’s_ not gonna happen,” he growled, setting her down in front of him. There was that familiar insanity in his eyes now, the cold calculating creature that she loved, that seemed to live and breath and thrive on the number of orgasms he gave her.

            “But I need proof,” she grinned, walking backwards towards the glass wall and he followed her, his body lithe and agile, his shoulders rolling powerfully as he slipped the tailored jacket off and tossed it to the brown leather couch.

            “Never gonna happen,” he told her, drawing out the words, undoing his black tie.

            “You would think,” she was breathless as she pressed herself against the cold glass wall behind her, somehow managing not to run into one of the pillars in the middle of the living room, “that after all these years, you wouldn’t be this spellbinding Stephen, but you seem to have become worse.”

            He was standing in front of her now, tossing his tie to the ground, “this isn’t magic,” he told her, looming over her, placing one hand on either side of her head as he leaned down, “this is history. This is your biology remembering mine, your brain remembering what my body does to you.”

            She shook her head stubbornly, unbuttoning his shirt, impatient to run her hands over his skin, over his chest, “this is magic baby,” she told him, sighing as his shirt fell open, touching the warmth of his chest, spreading her fingers and feeling the undeniable power beneath her palm, “there’s no other word for it,” she leaned forward, touching her tongue to his right nipple, “mmm,” she hummed, sucking him completely in her mouth, “only magic can make your nipples taste the same.,”

            Stephen pushed her back as he let the shirt fall his shoulders, making her laugh when the material got stuck around his massive bicep and he needed her help to push it off. “Nah,” he breathed, kissing her throat, finding that spot behind her ear that belonged to him, worrying it with his lips and tongue as she ran her fingers over his hard stomach, his sides, “it’s biology, anatomy that tells me you’re going to taste the same too.”

            “Stephen,” she breathed as he slipped his broad hands beneath her dress, drawing her panties down her legs as she unbuckled his belt, touching his erection through his trousers as she sighed for him, “what can I do say to convince you that you’re magic?”  
            She finally released his cock, pushing his tight trousers down his legs, smiling at the familiar sight of black boxer briefs that didn’t seem to be able to contain him any more. They both laughed breathlessly when she touched his cock, when she ran her hand down his pulsing length, “you know what is magic?” he murmured, pushing her hand away to press her back against the glass, spreading her legs with his knees, “you making me feel like magic exists.”

            Rayna was lost in him when he turned her around, letting him unzip her dress and tossing it away, stepping out of her panties at his direction, laughing slightly as he pushed it away with his foot. His lips were on her spine, his breath warm, his fingers working nimbly and her bra was tossed too, forgotten as he filled his hands with her breasts, making her gasp as he pinched her nipples. He was so familiar against her back, she could predict his every movement but oh, how was it possible that he could still make her this crazy? How could he muddle her so completely?

He pressed her hands flat against the glass, gripping her hips and forcing her to lean into her hands, leaving her deliciously exposed to him, “Stephen,” she moaned, spreading her legs, bracing herself as he stood behind her, “how many nights have I imagined you inside me?” she groaned, “I think I have phantom cock syndrome.”

“What?” he laughed.

            Rayna looked at him over her shoulder, touching her tongue to his mouth, “it’s a new syndrome I discovered, it’s when I wake up in the middle of the night, my cunt wet and swollen, and I can feel your cock buried so deep inside me—”

            He didn’t let her finish, burying himself inside her with a single smooth stroke, his right hand on top of hers on the glass, the other gripping her hip as he pushed himself inside her. She leaned forward, helping him get a deeper angle, pushing him deeper inside her. _Oh God_ he felt good, he felt familiar and big, invasive like he always did.

            Too much.

            He was always too much.

            She groaned as he thrust deeper and harder inside her, as the silence of his penthouse was filled with the sound of their catching breaths, their groans and desperate moans, the sound of their bodies coming together after so long, finding their way to each other like twenty years hadn’t separated them. Rayna opened her eyes, looking at his reflection over her shoulder, finding his cat-like eyes in the reflection.

            He looked so fierce, concentrating so hard as he fucked her, the muscles in his chest, his arms, his shoulders bulging with every push, with every thrust inside her that brought them closer and closer to the edge. She’d always loved the way the blush started from his shoulders, up his long, thick neck, and she knew that when it touched his ears, he would come inside her, shatter around her.

            So familiar.

            Oh it was too familiar, too wonderful, too much.

            He was too much…always too much. Too big, too massive in her cunt, a conqueror as he buried himself inside her to the hilt.

            Her orgasm arched her back in his arms, screaming as she threw her head back, pulsing around him as he shattered too, as he filled her with his own orgasm, her ears ringing from his growls, from the animalistic sound he made when he hunched over her and released in her.

            The muscles in her thighs were trembling, her core shaking as she held him in her body, trying to catch her shattering breath as he pressed his face between her shoulder blades, his breath hot against her skin. “See?” she said breathlessly, “magic.”

 

 


	3. Falling Under Your Spell

Her legs were heavy, her body so overcome with her orgasms that she was shocked she could follow him into the bedroom, collapsing on his bed as her legs refused to carry her any further. Stephen was laughing at her as he joined her on the bed, raising himself on his elbow above her, cupping her jaw in his palm. She closed her eyes, turning towards his body, pressing her face against his chest as he ran his fingertips over her features, pushing her hair from her face, “you’re more beautiful than I remember,” he told her.

            She laughed heartily, slipping her leg between his the way she always used to do, rubbing his muscular calf with her foot, running her hand over the muscles in his arms as he brought it down to rest on her hip, “you always were good at lying your nuts off,” she pressed her lips to the delicious hollow at the base of his throat.

            “Who says I’m lying?” he asked, looking offended.

            “Me,” she grinned, unable to keep herself from squeezing his bicep, “you may look more beautiful naked Stephen, but I know what I look like.”

            “Do you now,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous as he squeezed her flesh, brushing his open mouth against hers, his eyes open as he watched her reaction, “then you should have already guessed how much I love your body as it is now,” his fingers traced over the scars, “this is a body of a fighter.”

            “Oh God,” she rolled her eyes, thinking that she should’ve known he would find those scars, read her secrets in her body, “let’s not get into it,” she laughed softly, “I don’t want any of the heavy shit, not tonight, not with you. It’ll be waiting for me in the morning.”

            He kissed her again, slowly, tasting her, slipping his tongue into her mouth with that aching, desperate familiarity that had her gripping his shoulders, pulling him on top of her as she lost herself in all that he was. She groaned his name as she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind his luscious ass, urging him closer to her as her core trembled in anticipation of him. Stephen pulled away too fast, pressing his forehead to hers as they caught their breath, her hands traveling down his back, tracing his muscles, the strength as muscle gripped bone with his every movement against her. “Want something to drink?” he asked.

            She looked into those eyes, “cum?” she laughed wickedly, thinking she hadn’t ever been able to joke like this with other lovers, with other people for that matter. She felt so free, so like her true self as she lay skin to skin with this man, “I’ll have whiskey. On the rocks pretty please.”

            “Mmm,” he kissed her again before lifting himself away, “I’ll be right back,” he promised, padding naked and confident out to the living room.

She raised herself up on her elbows, taking the opportunity to look around his bedroom, his sanctum sanctorum. Rayna remembered the rather childish way he protected his stuff, demanding that he have his own side of the bed that she never touched, getting visibly annoyed if she touched his clothes in their closet, or moved his things without his permission. At first she’d been equally annoyed and frustrated with the way he demanded she allow him his space and privacy in their cramped apartment, until she’d realized it was because he’d never had his own space growing up, having to share it with his sister. After that, she’d been more careful about respecting his space. After a few weeks he’d noticed it, had crawled towards her as she’d lain on their bed reading, kissing her stomach and murmuring a “thank you”.

Rayna wondered if their younger selves would have believed the future they’d forge for themselves. She imagined travelling back in time and telling her twenty-something year old lover, the medical resident, the hungry young surgeon, that he would end up with a penthouse like this, would he believe her. But it was Stephen, and he knew his own strength, knew his own abilities, had predicted that he’d be here. His bedroom was much like the rest of his penthouse, masculine and simple in its décor and furniture, done in shades of gray with a bed fit for a king, an entire wall covered in class with a thick curtain to keep the sunlight out. The only thing out of place were the piles of books and glasses on the right side of his bed, clearly his side. She wondered if there had been anyone who claimed her side of the bed beside him these days…

She brushed the thoughts away, treating them as hostile as the thoughts about her scars, about her fighter’s body, as he called her. She inhaled deeply, surrounded by his scent that clung to his sheets, closing her eyes as she listened to him in the other room, laughing softly when he turned on the music. Gregory Porter’s deep baritone filled the penthouse and she smiled, remembering all those times they’d seen the singer live in jazz clubs. “Still a jazz aficionado?” she called out.

“Still listening to Nick Cave like an addict?” he answered, making her laugh.

“Duh,” she answered with a laugh, raising herself up on her elbows, shocked by the comfort in her own nudity, at the way she didn’t insist on throwing a sheet over herself as she lay naked. He walked in, glorious, all that luscious skin, the delicious man, carrying two squat glasses of whiskey, the sound of gently tinkling ice somehow invading her thoughts.

            His eyes were playful as he knelt between her legs on the bed, handing her one of the glasses, watching her sip carefully without spilling, still holding herself up on her elbow as she wrapped her legs around his waist. “You look like you belong in my bed,” he told her, leaning over her as he balanced the glass in his other hand, his lips wet from his whiskey as he kissed her throat, “as a matter of fact, I should just tie you to my bed, keep you here at my disposal.”

            Rayna laughed, “what about food and water? Exercise?” she murmured, “I mean, I’m totally willing but I need you to tell me the logistics.”

            “I’d take care of you,” he murmured, pressing his hips into hers, his voice thick and husky as she felt his erection slide between her wet folds, “feed you from my fingers, from my lips. And exercise, well,” he gave her a wicked grin, “you can burn up to a hundred calories when you come y’know, and what better cardio than fucking?”  
            “Such a romantic fool!” she laughed, pressing her hand to his chest and pushing him on his back, rising over him to straddle his hips. She groaned in pleasure as he slipped between her legs, gasping her pleasure as she felt his cock.

            “That’s me,” Stephen looked up at her, watching curiously as she took his glass and carefully set it on the nightstand. She kept her own glass, straddling him comfortably as the quiet sounds of saxophone vibrated through the air, drinking the single malt whiskey as she watched him. He gripped her hips, his eyes now an indescribable aqua color, the color of the Aegean after rain, she thought poetically, some part of her wanting to connect him to her home land. She’d always wanted to take him to her island, to Mykonos where she’d lived until she was 12, make love to him in the white sand. But they’d never gotten the chance to.

            She opened her mouth, taking a bit of ice in and rolling it around with her tongue as he frowned up at her, his hands on her breasts now, one imperious brow raised in curiosity. He tried to look bored, disinterested but the blush on his chest betrayed him, his pulsing cock trapped between their bodies telling her the truth. Her mouth now cold with the bit of ice still in her mouth, she bent down and sucked his nipple into her mouth, making him gasp at her cold tongue, gripping her hair in his palm and tugging merciless as he arched into her touch.

            Smiling she slid down his legs, taking his other nipple into her ice mouth, her hand traveling down beneath them as she gripped his length, stroking him gently as she worried his nipple between her lips. “Rayna,” he gasped her name, “that feels incredible,” he murmured, his long fingers sifting through her hair as she used the ice in her mouth to create a trail down between his pecs, down his stomach between the ropes of muscles, the ice melting completely by the time she got to his cock. Her mouth was still cold when she touched her tongue to the very tip of him, licking his cock and tasting a little bit of herself on him, running her hand through the thick thatch of slightly auburn hair that framed his cock. “Oh _shit_ ,” he cursed as he watched her fish out another chunk of ice from her glass, “don’t,” he groaned, “you’re going to kill me.”

            She laughed, using the ice around his cock, wetting his skin as she stroked him in her palm. He arched off the bed as she took him in her mouth completely, sliding him down her throat as much as she could before sliding up again with a laugh as he threw his hands above his head, gripping the sheets as she slid him down her throat again, her tongue and mouth still ice cold. She gripped his thighs, smiling as he twisted her hair in his fist, forcing her to take more of him, forcing her to groan in protest as he touched the back of her throat with his thick tip.

            Stephen viciously pulled on her hair, forcing her head off his cock, his eyes filled with erotic darkness, with lust that went beyond his body, beyond the physical realm it seemed as he dragged her up to his chest to kiss her slowly, licking her mouth. She settled against him again, reaching between them as he kissed her, as he thrust his tongue into her mouth rhythmically, groaning as she slipped his wet cock inside her wetness, slowly, oh so slowly as she sat up, arching against him as he filled her again, the bursting, full sensation come back to her… _God_.

Was it his personality? Was it their history together? Was it the size of his cock that made her feel like she was bursting at the seams when he was inside her? She scraped her nails down his chest, leaving behind red streaks as she rode his cock slowly, thinking that she sometimes felt like she could feel him in the back of her throat, touching her womb…She felt so _full._

Rayna let him flip them, locking her ankles behind him as he thrust inside her as he rose on top of her, reaching between them to rub her clit as he took her nipple in his mouth, making her gasp with the orgasm that wracked her body, the warmth that spread through her, the sensations that flooded her as she took him deeper inside her. She couldn’t believe the sounds she was making, the keening gasps, the animalistic screams as he came inside her, as she felt him jerk and release, buried within her.

Stephen collapsed on top of her, both of them panting as he nestled his cheek against her chest, his cock slipping out of her as she ran her fingers through his hair, kissing his forehead as he closed his eyes. “See,” she laughed sleepily, “you didn’t die.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” his voice was a growl, so deep she barely understood his garbled words as he lifted himself up to kiss her slowly, rolling on to his back and dragging her on top of him, letting her rest against him. “By the way,” he said after a few heartbeats of peaceful silence with nothing but music filling the space around them, and she realized she’d forgotten the jazz he was playing, her ears too full of his voice, his groans, his shameless moans as they’d fucked, “do I need to worry about condoms or anything?”

She silently shook her head, “nah,” she told him, curling her fingers into the hair on his chest.

He didn’t say anything, simply stroking her hair as he let her rest against his chest, finding inexplicable peace.

 

 


	4. Somehow Somewhere Sometime Soon

            She felt raw, her body used and muscles weak, her core trembling, her muscles sore and strained in places she’d forgotten existed. Rayna lay against him with her cheek pressed against his shoulder, watching him as he slept, the light filtering through the window the next morning. Deliberately, deliciously, she recounted all they’d experienced together throughout the night, the orgasms they’d gifted each other, the way they’d worshipped each other’s flesh.

He’d remembered how much she’d loved being fucked from behind, not holding anything back as he’d forced her on all fours, his hand wrapped around her throat as he’d taken her to the very heights of ecstasy. He also remembered how much she loved his hands, his long fingers, and had slipped them so deep inside her, drawing out her orgasms with wicked, knowing fingers.  

She’d remembered how much he’d loved it when she rode him but facing away, gripping his knees for balance as she took him, making him scream. He’d gotten frustrated when she hadn’t let him come, lifting herself away from him when she knew he was close, so frustrated that he’d brought his hand down against her ass, leaving a red handprint on her skin.  

She’d called him a dirty old man when he’d licked her cunt clean after he’d orgasmed inside her, making him laugh in turn when she’d made him come in her mouth and swallowed and licked all his orgasm.

And now, she feathered her fingertips over his features, it was time to say good bye. Well, in their case, it was probably an adieu. Some part of her was convinced she and Stephen would never truly say good-bye, that they’d always find a way to steal time for each other. She thought she would feel regret, that she’d feel guilty or heartbroken the dreaded morning after, but she only felt happiness, relief, knowledge, and joy in her own body.

She had lived with Stephen Strange long enough, had been his long enough, to know that impermanence between them was the only way they could be together. They had too much ambition between them, too much ego, too much talent, too many parallels that would ruin their peace if they considered anything beyond stolen time together. She loved him, she could never deny that, but she knew they wouldn’t work together…not beyond this.

But oh, she would miss seeing him first thing in the morning. The way his eyes always just flipped open as they did now, looking more catlike in their shape, pale in their color with a softness that a few more minutes would steal away from him. A slow smile spread over his features as he lifted a hand to cup her cheek, stroking her hair away from her face in that tender manner, making her sigh as he pressed himself closer to her, “morning,” he murmured.

His voice first thing in the morning should be illegal she thought as she ran her hand over his chest, “morning,” she grinned, brushing her lips against his.

“How d’you sleep?” he asked, throwing his leg over hers so that she was completely trapped against him, tangled in his limbs.

“Like the happily, blissfully fucked,” she laughed, “you?”  
            “Happily and blissfully fucked,” he grinned, kissing her slowly, tasting her.

Her phone went off on the nightstand like a bomb in the room, ruining the moment. She would have ignored it but it was her daughter’s ringtone, and she pushed away from her lover, grateful that she’d padded to the living room during the night to bring her phone back with her. She kissed him before sitting up and answering, shivering as he kissed her spine, “Hello?”

“Morning mama!” her daughter greeted her in Greek, “were you asleep?” she asked, switching to English.

“Yes sweetheart, what’s up?” she asked.

“What time’s your flight?”

The conversation ended a few moments later, and she sat on the edge of Stephen’s bed, staring at her phone. She groaned in pleasure when he ran his broad hand over her back, “everything okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Yes,” she looked at him over her shoulder, naked and unashamed, his body beautiful and delicious, a pagan god, ready to be worshipped, “she just wanted to see what time I’d be home. She wants to cook dinner for me.”

“I hope she’s a better cook than you,” he laughed.

“Fuck you,” she laughed, grabbing his pillow and throwing it at him, “but yes, she is.”

“Do you really have to go?” he asked a little while later as she put on her bra.

“You know I do,” she rolled her eyes, pulling on her dress and turning her back to him wordlessly, asking him to zip up her dress, “but this was, well, fun doesn’t cover it.”

He pressed his naked body to her back, his breath warm against her ear as they watched the awakened city beyond his glass wall, the life that went on while they stood still in his penthouse, locked away, frozen in their time together. “We should do it more often,” he spoke softly against her ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Hit me up next time you’re in DC,” she pressed a kiss to his lips, “My New York booty call.”

            “And you call me romantic,” he laughed as she turned in his arms, cupping her face in his palms, kissing her so slowly, so exquisitely as if memorizing her every breath, her every sensation.

She pulled away, pressing her forehead to his with a smile, “Romeo and Juliet ain’t got nuthin on us,” she laughed, bending down to pick up her panties off the floor, pressing them into his palm with a grin, “my present to you, Stephen Strange. Take care of yourself babe, I need you healthy and whole,” she kissed him again, wrapping her peacoat around herself as she stepped out of his penthouse, somehow knowing he watched her from the glass window as she climbed into the cab and was driven to her hotel room.

Rayna grinned as she packed, refusing to bathe when she was at her hotel room, wanting to carry him in her skin, his scent on her skin and inside her as she rode to the airport, the pit of her stomach still feeling that inexplicable heaviness, as if he was still buried in her. She closed her eyes as she settled into her first-class seat, asking the flight attendant for coffee, switching her music from Nick Cave to Gregory Porter as she was carried away to DC


End file.
